Bang
by Ice Queen1
Summary: Prequel to "Catalyst". There was so much red, and Wes was looking at him as if he knew that this was it...that he was dying. Wes whump. Emotional Travis whump. Bromance. NOT SLASH. Yes, some swears.


Author's Note: Because where I work is like 9000+ degrees, I feel like making someone suffer. And Wes…poor Wes…is just soooo easy to do it to. I'm also making Travis older since the actor Michael Ealy is older than Warren Kole by four years.

And apparently since I need to post this on EVERY FREAKING STORY, NO, NOT SLASH. And no, I will not change it. But short having Wes penis punch Travis just to make a point, I have no more obvious way of saying "NOT SLASH" in a story context.

Also, I am in the Navy. This means I swear. A lot. I hardly notice. But there will probably be some "bad" words in almost anything I write.

EDIT: a lot of the terms used here are for MILITARY police, not civilians, so I have no idea how accurate it is.

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"Let's be the ones to clear to the room!" Travis said, practically jumping up and down on the balls of his feet. "We can kick in doors, be all bad ass…hi yah!" Travis mimicked karate chopping the mirror off of Wes's door.

Wes, ever the straight man in the Abbott and Costello routine he and his partner seemed to have developed, rolled his eyes and refused to encourage him like some of the other officers. They didn't have to work with Travis _after _a bust, when the adrenaline was wearing off and he had to practically duct tape the older man (who would've guessed?) to a chair to make him fill out his proper paper work.

"Come on, man! Let's go!" Travis said. "It'll be like _S.W.A.T_!"

"If you start to sing that ridiculous theme song again, I swear I will hurt you," Wes said. "Let the uniforms sweep the rooms and take care of it."

"We never get to have any fun!" Travis pouted. "Look, we're wearing vests and everything! What's the worst that could happen?"

"Are we _really_ going to play the 'worst case scenario' game before a bust? That's pretty much inviting trouble. No, Travis, not happening." Wes shook his head. "My anniversary is tomorrow, and if I get shot, Alex will never forgive me."

"Aw, come on! She loves you! How could she say no to the sad, lost Puppy Wes look?" Travis said, grinning from ear to ear as he briefly pulled Wes's already dour features into a frown. "Look! I can hardly resist you!"

Wes fought to keep a smirk off his face. Leave it to Travis to be able to make him smile.

"Please?" Travis said, one more time, this time clasping his hands in front of his face and putting on a pout that would put a toddler to shame. He even batted his eyes.

"Oh, my God, stop that. People already think we're dating," Wes said, slapping Travis's hands down.

"I'll kiss you if you don't agree to go in and make the take down," Travis said slyly. "In public. Right in front of everyone. And I'll stop stomping the rumors that we're an item around the secretarial pool."

"You wouldn't dare," Wes said, looking horrified.

"In a heartbeat."

Wes remained unmoving, torn between a look of abject horror and disbelief.

Travis shrugged, and suddenly lunged at Wes. "Pucker up, honey," he said, and before he knew it Wes had managed to dodge him and swung around, grasping Travis's head and his arms in a half nelson. "Ow…"

"Try it again, and you'll be in traction," Wes hissed in his ear.

"You can't be this vigilant all the time! I'll get you when you least expect it! Unless you agree to be the primary team!" Travis gasped out, refusing to accept defeat.

There was a growl in his ear, and suddenly he was being shoved away. Travis knew he'd won. Though, one of these days, Wes would probably finally do one of two things – shoot him, or actually cut loose once in his life.

"Fine! We'll be the primary. But we're still going in with the uniforms! No 'Dirty Harry' solo vigilante crap, all right?" Wes said, stabbing a finger pointedly into Travis's chest. "And we're wearing vests!"

Travis scoffed. "I said I wanted to be a ninja, not dead. Of course we'll wear vests!" Travis shrugged into his as Wes pulled the Velcro ties across his chest.

The bust in question was a possible arms and drug trafficker, small time, but in the market to make a name for himself. He'd holed up in a small, condemned two story home on the outskirts of the city where to be perfectly honest, most crooks didn't even want to go.

"We're up to date on shots, right?" Wes asked, sighing as he pulled his gun from his hip holster.

"With our luck, we'll die from lead poisoning before tetanus," Travis replied.

The on-scene leader lead the charge, Wes and Travis's team going through the front door as another plain clothes detective from narcotics burst in the back.

They swept through the house, one always shadowing the door while the other opened it to be cleared. Like a well oiled machine.

They found their guy on the first floor, and Travis pulled him up short as he went for the .45 tucked in the waistband of his all too loose jeans.

"Freeze!" Travis shouted, keeping his weapon pointed at the man. Hell, he was barely a legal adult. Still old enough to be tried though. "Now what the hell were you gonna do with that, huh? There's like thirty of us, and you only have fifteen rounds in that thing. What were you going to do to the other half of the police force?"

The man growled, and spit in Travis's direction. He didn't even flinch. Hardly had to – the guy's aim was wide by about three feet.

Travis tsked and shook his head. "That's just embarrassing, man. Keep your hands up!" Without taking his eyes off of the suspect, he called over to Wes. "I've got this guy. Wanna cuff him for me? I don't think he likes me very much."

"Nobody likes you very much," Wes said, but put his own weapon back in the holster, flipping the stop guard over the hammer so even if the suspect managed to grab the gun while he was being handcuffed, he would never be able to pull it out.

"House is clear!" the local uniforms called, circling back to the kitchen where Travis and Wes were. "Second floor is clear. Nobody's up there. He's gotta be working alone," the lead LEO informed Travis.

"Really?" Wes said, pulling the suspect's hands down from his head one at a time as he snapped the handcuffs around his wrist – one snap beyond what would be comfortable. "What drug dealer, _or_ weapons dealer, deals to himself? Intel said this was a buy spot, so check again. His buyer might be hiding."

The LEO rolled his eyes, but waved at the others. "One more time for the lawyer, boys," he called exasperatedly. "You ever consider we're just early?"

Wes shook his head, before reading off the man's rights. "You have the right to remain silent…" he didn't make it any further than that.

Travis would replay this moment over and over in his head, for months to come, wondering if he could've done something different. If he'd somehow missed a sign saying that the buyer Wes insisted was somewhere in the house was in fact in the walk in closet just behind him.

It didn't matter. One second Wes was standing in front of him, reading the Miranda rights off by rote, and then there were two deafening shots.

It wasn't like in the movies, where they stumble a little, then suddenly notice that they've been hit and gracefully tumble to the floor.

No. This was a sudden explosion of color, bright red, across Travis's field of vision, and Wes was suddenly gone. The two men who were standing there not one second ago were both on the ground, one missing a sizeable chunk of his head, and the other clutching desperately at his neck despite the use of only one arm.

Travis reacted like any incredibly distraught partner would – and emptied his entire magazine into the closet behind Wes. The gunfire brought every officer in the building back to them, but it was too late.

The second suspect toppled forwards, dead before he hit the ground, out of the closet the LEO's neglected to check during the sweep.

Travis charged forwards, sliding on the slick pools of blood and landing harshly on his knees next to his partner, who despite all odds, was still conscious.

Wes's left hand was pressed fiercely against the side of his neck, but it was almost ridiculous how little it did against the broad wound. Bright red pulsed up between his fingers as they scrabbled for purchase against the blood soaked skin. His right arm didn't move at all, thanks to the massive hole in his shoulder that went straight through the vest.

Travis's numbed brain took all of this into account as he gently lifted Wes from the floor, tearing off his police windbreaker and pushing it as hard as he could against the entry wound in Wes's back before settling him slightly elevated against his thighs as he kneeled in the blood.

Wes didn't scream at what had to be blinding pain from the pressure, but Travis didn't think he could – Wes was lucky he was only grazed with the hollow point across the neck – or he would be as dead as the man it _did_ hit full on. Personally, Travis thought it was a mercy the man was dead so quick. Because if he got his hands on him _alive_…he let the thought die. Wes coughed, making a disturbing, choked gurgling noise in the back of his throat.

"SOMEBODY CALL A FUCKING MEDIC!" Travis shouted, though he could hear sirens already. His mind was running at a million mile an hour crawl – he could see everything in perfect detail, but the only thing in his vision was the bright, bright red now pulsing over his own fingers as he desperately tried to keep Wes's shoulder wound from gushing blood. It was useless, like using a tissue to stop the Hoover Dam, but he'd be damned if he sat back and let his partner die.

After getting shot in the back. In a house full of cops. After the room had already been cleared.

Anger made him tense involuntarily, and Wes's ragged whimper brought him back.

"Shit, man, I'm sorry. You're gonna be fine, ok?" Travis said shakily. Adrenaline was making his hands shake and difficult not to stutter. "You're gonna be fine. Ambulance is already on their way, and Mercy General is like five minutes from here."

Wes's wide, suddenly very blue eyes stared up at him, the raw pain and fear nakedly visible in them. It almost completely undid Travis.

"Fuck, I'm sorry. I should've seen it. I should've got him first. I am so, so sorry, Wes. But you're gonna live, okay? You're gonna be fine, you're gonna have Alex to take care of you, and I'll be there too, okay? But you gotta live, man. Just hold on…" Travis knew he was beginning to babble, but it didn't matter. He could feel Wes begin to shake from shock and blood loss, skin whiter than bone, his hand no longer able to keep its grip on his neck wound. Worse were the noises that Wes was making, and Travis wanted nothing more than to put his hands over his ears to block out the sounds that would haunt his nightmares for months to come. They were high pitched, some horrible cross between crying, choking, and a whine that reminded Travis of an animal in pain.

And the entire time, Wes never took his eyes off of Travis. Those shockingly blue eyes remained fixed on his, the only way that Wes could communicate. And it was so much worse because Travis could see everything in those eyes…and Wes knew he was dying.

"Sir, we need you to let him go now."

_Let go_? Travis thought wildly. _Never_. He was going to hold onto his partner like he was the only thing keeping him alive.

"Sir, _let go_." The voice was more insistent and there were suddenly hands pulling him away from Wes, replacing his hands on the gaping wounds, which were pulsing a little less now. A mask was fitted over Wes's face, and he was breathing so lightly it didn't even fog the plastic. Wes's eyes began to droop as he was lifted from the floor and onto the crash gurney, pressure bandages being rapidly applied to his neck and shoulder.

"WES!" Travis shouted, lunging forwards in between the medical personnel. His hands found his partner's limp one, and he squeezed forcefully, almost violently against Wes's slackened right hand. Wes's eyes flew open, as a tear of pain managed to escape, trickling down the side of his face. "Keep your eyes_ open_, Wes!" Travis demanded.

He almost slumped in relief when he saw the slight nod of Wes's head in response to his demand.

And like that, Wes was gone. The flurry of activity that came with the EMT's was gone just as quickly, and all that was left was a vague ringing in his ears at the sudden absence of sound. Blood soaked his knees down to his shoes, across his thighs and through his jacket. His windbreaker remained on the floor, crumpled in a bloody heap. He stared numbly at his hands, still dripping with red onto the tile.

That was how the Captain found him three hours later, when the LEO's couldn't get through to him to get him to go to the hospital himself.

It took another twenty minutes for the Captain to get through to him that Wes was still alive and in surgery and maybe Travis should come with him, just to make sure.

It was another six hours before Wes was wheeled out of surgery, intubated, and Travis and Alex were informed he'd fallen into a coma. A light one, if that made them feel any better.

It didn't.

Three days would pass before Wes opened his eyes.

Four before Travis breathed a sigh of relief he'd been holding that whole time.

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Ok, before I start getting people harping on me about the relationship of unrequited love that these two have for one another, I'm going to get this off my chest. I'm in the military. As a cop. My partner and I are with one another for 14 hours a day, 3-5 days a week. We spend our off time together too. But when he got shot in the middle of a take down, I didn't suddenly realize I'd been in love with him the whole time. I realized I just watched my best friend almost die. Crazy shit runs through your head, but mostly, it's "please God, let them live". At a hundred miles an hour, in every language you can think of. When you're prepared to die for one another, or at least put yourself in harm's way for someone, it creates a very different bond.

There. Lecture over! Read and review! Oh, and the sequel to this is "Catalyst". I almost have a series…:-)


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